Name
by Miki-chan13
Summary: It was a cold night when they first met, blood clotting the pure white snow as it continued to fall. A former demon and a future thug. Both have names, but only one of them will use both for himself.


Snow slowly dusted the environment in white, shimmering lazily in the waning sunlight. The people around were slowly settling down for the night ahead as the sun dipped lower and lower until it disappeared in a mass of dark blues and pale, fading greens.

A man slowly made his way through the district, more than a bit eager to return to his house where he knew a hot meal and (even better) a hot bath were waiting for him. He wore a black cloak and hood over his clothing and head that shielded him from the snow and some of the cold.

_It's so peaceful out_, the man thought, looking up at the sky with a bit of difficulty, thanks to the wall, _To think that just beyond those stones are those God-awful creatures._

The titans, thankfully, weren't as active during the night, so the scraping and knocking and grunting that he heard during the day, was absent once the sun went down. Still, knowing that they were only protected by, at the most, a few yards of stone, albeit fifty meters high, was enough for the man's belly to shudder with nauseating anticipation.

He then punched himself in the head rather hard, making the skin throb and him snap out of the train of thought. Tonight, he would be spending time in his own home for the first time in nearly a year; he wasn't about to let his time off go to waste because of worrying.

Just as he passed by the gates, he heard a scuffle and some voices. The first few were all male and arrogant-sounding, and the next voice belonged to an old man. At first, he simply chose to ignore it and move on, but then he heard punches being thrown and cries of pain. He immediately ran over to the scene. By the time he got there, he saw three men kicking two crouching figures with ragged clothing with ferocity, their blood starting to paint the stone and snow underneath them red.

"Oi, just what's going on here?!" he barked at the men, prompting them to look up.

"What's it's to ya?" one of the men retorted, his hazel eyes narrowed in a sneer.

The man wordlessly drew back his cloak, revealing his military uniform with a small cravat and 3D maneuvering gear, making the men stiffen before he walked past them, shoving who he presumed to be the leader of the three out of his way as he inspected the damage.

The victims were an elderly man with grey hair and dark brown eyes, clutching a tiny child to him in an attempt to shield them from the blows.

"Mind explaining your actions, gentlemen?" the soldier asked them, his voice deceptively calm.

"They were trying to open the gates up," the leader said with a serious expression, black eyes narrowed in disgust, "You of all people should understand; you're supposed to protect us citizens."

"So, you decided to beat them up?" the soldier inquired, raising an eyebrow, "I get that the gates can't be opened for all too obvious reasons, but you didn't have to make them bleed. Leave such matters to the Garrison."

"I can't believe this!" the third man snapped, "Are you taking these _heretic's_ side?!"

"... leaving the walls is suicidal and incredibly stupid, I agree," the soldier said, "But when exactly did it become heresy, though?"

This left the three men speechless. Just then, the man heard a shuffle by the "heretics".

The child that the elderly man was holding was getting on their feet. turning their, or rather his, head to look up at the soldier. The boy was very tiny with messy black hair that reached past the nape of his neck and shaggy bangs that hung over most of his face, which was bright red from the cold.

"Please..." the boy pleaded in a raspy voice, "Please just leave us alone..."

"Shut up, brat!" the third snapped before his boot shot out, kicking the boy in the torso and knocked him backwards. The elderly man rasped in fear as he clutched the boy to him.

"You _do_ realize you, a grown man, just kicked a three-to-four year old child, right?" the soldier said, his tone laced with soft incredulity and low fury.

"'m nine..."

"This is no longer your business, understand? Now get out of here before I make you," the soldier told the three troublemakers, his hand slowly shifting to his harness and propulsion.

At that, the elderly man suddenly shot up and tried to hobble over to the doors, despite the wounds that plagued him.

"We must get out-!" he rasped out, before the first man shot over to him and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him backwards from the walls harshly.

This caused the elderly man to slip on the clotted snow and fall backwards. His head hit the stone with a sickening crack. The soldier's eyes widened before he shot over to the elderly man, checking his pulse.

"I-I didn't mean-" the man stammered frantically as the soldier got up, his fist tightly clenched.

The boy remained silent through all of this, his eyes seemingly locked on the elderly man's body before he suddenly shot up and hurled himself at the second man. For a moment, the man looked confused before his eyes became blank and he fell over, a knife sticking out of his chest and blood stained the snow and stone beneath his body.

_"You little shit!"_ the third man nearly shrieked, lunging at the boy.

That's when the soldier sprung into action. He fired the grappling hooks as fast as he could, embedding the metal into the wall before throwing off the cloak for better maneuverability as he swung forward and above with deadly efficiency, landing a strong kick to the man's stomach and knocking him down just a foot in front of the boy.

The leader's eyes widened as he beheld the soldier. His hair was almost as white as the snow, his skin even paler. On his left arm was the insignia of a white wing and dark blue wing framed in silver, interlocking with one another.

"I won't repeat myself," the soldier growled, blood red eyes narrowing into a glare, "I've already cut up plenty of titans; it'd be child's play to return the same courtesy to you two."

At that, the remaining men all but scrambled atop of one another, trying to get as fast and far away from him as possible. The soldier grimaced at them before he turned back to the scene. The boy was kneeling over the old man, trying to shake him awake.

"Its no use," the soldier stated in a void tone, "I checked him over; he's dead."

At that, the boy went limp as he stared down at the elderly man, completely deflated. The soldier crushed the oncoming pity as he walked over to the boy and knelt in front of him.

"Where do you live?" he asked, "I can escort you back to your home-"

"We don't have a house," the boy stated, his tone flat and calm.

The soldier frowned at that. They lived on the streets? It was a miracle they haven't frozen to death in this weather.

"Do you know anyone that can help you?" the soldier asked.

The boy shook his head. "We're alone."

Now the soldier had a rather difficult dilemma. He had his own agenda, he was a member of the military faction with the highest casualty rate and he was only staying in this district for a week. But it made his stomach roll with disgust when he thought of just abandoning the tiny child-

**Thump.**

The soldier's thoughts were interrupted by the muffled noise before he saw the boy slump on the ground by the elderly man. He quickly checked the boy's pulse, which was slowly speeding up. He quickly set his hand on the boy's forehead, the flesh abnormally hot and he could feel the roughness of scars on said flesh. His breath came out in short, far too quick huffs.

_"Fuck,"_ the man hissed as he quickly wrapped the boy in his cloak, tucked him into his arms securely and broke into a run.

He slammed the door open to his small house before racing inside. As usual, thanks to his dear friend, it was spotless and some lights were still on. Speaking of, an older woman with pale brown hair tied back in a bun, dark green eyes and slightly chubby build showed up in the hallway, wearing night clothing.

"What are you-" she began.

"Edith, bring out soap, medicine, towels, bandages, any hot food that's available, some of my old clothes, and some cold water NOW," the soldier told her hurriedly as he opened his bedroom door and settled the child on it.

He quickly shed off the boy's ragged coat and opened the button-up shirt. Even though the elderly man had tried to protect him, the boy still had injuries from the three goons. Bruises littered over his scrawny build and the soldier could see clearly where he had been kicked hard enough to draw blood on his abdomen.

Edith returned a moment later with the cold water and a small washcloth before running back to the bathroom. The soldier dipped said cloth in the water and squeezed the excess out before wiping it carefully over the dirt and blood on the boy's torso and arms. He quickly cleaned the injuries of any stray dirt, grime or blood on the exposed skin before gently pushing the boy's shaggy bangs off his forehead.

The roughness he had felt earlier had been burn scars that the soldier recognized as being caused by a cigarette. He pushed down the anger in his chest at the degree of injuries and set the cloth carefully on the skin, trying to clean the scars without opening them up. He could hear Edith bringing out the soap and shampoo across the hall and was immensely grateful that she had started the bath up earlier and even more that he could afford to have hot water brought directly to his home instead of having to heat it up himself.

He hoisted the boy up a moment later and brought him into the bathroom, where the tub was filled with hot water. Edith was bringing towels and bandages out of the cabinet. The soldier quickly stripped the boy down and lowered him into the tub gently, keeping his head above the water. The boy seemed stir where he sat, the water bringing some coherence to him.

"Hey, can you try to keep your head up a bit higher?" the soldier said in a gentle tone as he took a pitcher that Edith set aside and gently poured it over his hair, careful not to get any in his eyes.

Edith handed him the shampoo a second later and he set a glob of it in his hands before rubbing it into the black roots and strands. It felt oily and grimy and the soldier had difficulty suppressing a shudder when he came across either some large lice or small maggots. He wiped the bugs off with one of his handkerchiefs before washing out the shampoo and repeated the process of lathering and rinsing until the boy's hair was clean.

He then took another wash cloth and lathered some lye soap into the material before he washed the boy's body, careful not to open any of the scars or more tender bruises until he was clean. Edith helped him get the boy out of the water before draining the tub, rubbing the soft towels over his body until he and his hair was dry and the soldier scooped him up again carefully and brought him back to the bedroom, where Edith quickly brought out some clothing onto the mattress before taking the boy's own to go wash.

The soldier took his opportunity to apply salve and bandages to the injuries on his torso, limbs and forehead, securing them in a snug fit before redressing the boy in the far-too-big clothing. Through the bangs, the soldier was able to get the barest glimpse of half-opened eyes that reflected a dull apprehension that followed his every movement. He remained silent as the soldier gently tucked the boy in the bed, making sure he still had room to breath and would stay warm.

"It's okay; no one is going to hurt you here, and we won't let anyone else do you any harm," the soldier said simply, gently smoothing a hand over the boy's head, "You've got my word, and my word is one of the few things I have left of value."

As the soldier continued to run his hand over the hair, the boy's body relaxed and his breathing mellowed. The soldier stayed by the boy's side until he was sure that he had fallen asleep. The soldier then took to take a change of clothes out of his closet before he closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom to change. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a white dress shirt and black pants, his uniform and cravat folded up nicely.

He joined Edith in the kitchen after he set the clothing on the small couch just outside said room. She was heating up something, but the soldier was too drained to to look as he flopped into one of the chairs and put his head in his arms.

"So much for a break," he said tiredly, his voice muffled by the two appendages.

"Mind explaining what brought that child to your attention?" Edith asked as she set down a small plate of a thick vegetable stew in front of the soldier before joining him with her own plate.

The soldier then proceeded to explain what had happened that night and by the time he was done, both of their plates were nearly empty and the soldier realized just how exhausted he was. Edith didn't really react to the news, simply nodding and taking it in as she finished her mouthful.

"What do you plan to do with him?"

"Hell if I know," the soldier growled at that, rubbing his head, "I can't just look after him like this, I have giants to slay."

"Speaking of, your kill count is how high now...?" Edith asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Fifteen solo, nineteen assisted; thirty-four in all," the soldier answered as he took another spoonful of the stew, potatoes and onions thick on his tongue.

"Huh," the woman said, looking genuinely impressed, "You weren't joking when you said that killing was all you were good at."

"Well..." the soldier shrugged at that before he finished his plate and took it over to the sink.

"It's pretty late, even now, Edith remarked as she finished her food as well and handed her dish to the soldier as he started to clean them, "Try to get some sleep, all right?"

Edith left the room a moment later, leaving the soldier to finish the dishes before drying them and setting them back in the cabinet and wiping the counters clean. He took a moment to simply take in the air and sighed.

It had been far too long since he had been here. Even though Edith promised she would look after his old house (not like she had a choice, she was evicted from her own months ago and now relied on him for shelter until she could get enough to get a new place), it still felt strange being away for so long.

Sometimes, he wondered why he even became a soldier.

* * *

_"What do you mean you're done?!" The noble exclaimed, staring at the demon incredulously as they set aside the jagged knife given to them when they began their job._

_"I mean I quit, I'm abdicating, I'm resigning, I'm dropping/ bowing off; shall I go on?" they said simply before walking over to the door._

_"You can't do this!" the noble bellowed angrily, "Do you really think that I'll just let you walk away-"_

_"But you have no choice but to do so," the demon stated, turning back to look at their former boss, "You don't know my real name, and you haven't even seen my face."_

_Indeed, the demon always wore a black face mask and hood in the presence of his contractors. The only ones who got a glimpse of his true face usually died a few seconds later; this wasn't exempt to said contractors or their hired muscle and servants._

_"Why you-! Very well then!" the noble spat, "But know that if I ever find even a trace of you anywhere, even the vaguest hint, you'll die before a fortnight is through!"_

_"You do that then."_

_And the demon was gone._

* * *

He made a good enough life for himself as a hired assassin for those shady nobles. Eliminate the target, get the money; the job would be done and he didn't have to think of it again.

But...

He would always have to keep his face hidden so to ensure no one would know what he looked like (Another reason to hate how he looked; there weren't exactly many people that fitted the demon- er, the soldier's physical description in any of the walls), and he would have no freedom.

Even if he could survive on the money, even if he could survive on his job, it made him feel empty.

Perhaps that was why he decided to quit being an assassin, end the reign of the demon, use his old name (one he hadn't used for nearly half his life), become a soldier, and enter the Survey Corps. Even if the other members (and occasionally the higher officers and squad leaders) looked at him funny, they couldn't doubt the skill he had.

It was no mystery to why he had told Edith before that killing was all he could do well. Besides cleaning at least, and he outright refused to work as a servant. He still had some pride, after all. No, his talents lied in killing, plain and simple.

His eyes drooped for a few moments before he punched himself in the head, bringing him a bit more awake before remembering that he really needed sleep, and he needed it now. The soldier walked out to where he had set his clothes on the small couch. He took out a handkerchief and wiped away some dust on the floor before setting the clothing on the spot and splaying himself on the couch.

In just a few minutes, the former demon was sound asleep.

* * *

When his eyes opened again, the soldier was greeted with sunlight streaming through the window. He blinked his eyes blearily before he stretched his limbs out and yawned, his hand rubbing his face.

The soldier got up and walked over to the bathroom, stripped down, turned on the shower head and let the cold water run over him. It helped wake him up better as he quickly cleaned his hair and body before turning the water off again and drying himself off. He took the clothes and put them back on again, trying to repress a grimace at the fact he was consciously putting on the same clothing he had slept in.

As he walked out, he nearly collided with Edith as she came out of his room.

"He's awake," she told him.

"... Edith?" the soldier asked in a low tone as he saw the crimson on the back of her hand and what he could clearly see were _teeth marks_.

She just gave a small smile and shook her head. "It's all right; he was just startled is all when I went to check on him."

The soldier grimaced, a low growl in his throat and anger clenched tightly at his chest before Edith gripped his shoulder.

_"Don't."_

He shuddered before the growl disappeared and his frame became relaxed again as the anger dissipated. "Sorry."

Edith's expression became more solemn as she said, "You should talk with him. That child's more than a bit confused at the moment and you're the last person he remembered."

The soldier nodded and walked into his bedroom. The boy was indeed awake now, staring up at the ceiling through his bangs which had fallen over his eyes once more.

_He's like a little sheepdog,_ the soldier realized, repressing a smile at the thought before he said gently, "I told you that you didn't have to worry about being harmed here. Please don't attack her again, okay? Edith is a dear friend of mine."

The boy remained silent but he gave the barest of nods. The silence went on for a minute before-

"... my grandfather's dead," the boy said softly before the soldier could say anything, "isn't he?"

The soldier nodded before remembering the boy couldn't see him nod. "Yes, he is."

There was a few seconds silence before the soldier heard the boy's breath hitch and his teeth gritted together tightly. This did nothing to stop the tears trickling down the boy's face as he tried to hold back a sob.

The soldier's fist clenched tightly, the anger back full force again. If he was still in his old business, he'd hunt those men down and-

He punched himself in the head. _No. More important things to do right now._

The soldier walked over to the boy's side and knelt down by him, taking a handkerchief out and wiping the tears away carefully. The boy stiffened before he sniffled slightly.

"Here, blow," the soldier said, placing the cloth on the boy's nose.

He exhaled sharply through his nose into the cloth before the soldier drew it back. He had plenty of them already; hell, the soldier was the one who made them in the first place.

"What do you want to do? Is there anywhere you can go? Or any other family I can take you to?" he asked after the boy's tears stopped.

"I don't know," the boy got out shakily, "I have nowhere to go, and my parents are on the other side and I can't reach them."

Suddenly, his hand came up to cover his mouth, as if he had just said something he shouldn't have. But the soldier already heard him.

"'Other side'?" the soldier repeated, "You mean they're in Wall Rose, or Wall Sina?"

The boy remained silent, his frame shaking. The soldier frowned before he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I promise you," he said sternly, "whatever you say, I'll take it with me to my grave. You don't have to be scared."

The boy looked up at him and the soldier now able to see dark silver, almost gunmetal grey, orbs look back up at him through the bangs.

"No," the boy said, his voice shaking now. "They're on the other side of Wall Maria."

The soldier blinked before the meaning dawned on him and his blood red eyes widened.

_"Verstoyen,"_ he said in shock, "You mean... they really exist?"

The boy grimaced but nodded.

The _Verstoyen_ were regarded as freaks and pariahs; humans who lived beyond the walls in titan territory. The soldier had always believed that they were only some local legend or myth to dissuade curious children into never trying to sneak up the walls and to warn those who wished to go outside the walls against such actions.

Apparently not, if the boy was telling the truth.

"Was your grandfather was trying to get you to your people?" the soldier asked, "To your family?"

The boy nodded. "They brought me here a few months ago because there was a bad sickness growing in my town; my grandfather had left us when I was really little-"

"Littler than you are now?" the soldier couldn't help saying.

"... do you want to hear the rest or not?" the boy said in a flat tone, eyes piercing the soldier's through the hair.

_Damn,_ the soldier couldn't help thinking as he said, "Sorry."

"Grandfather had left when I was really _young_. So when the sickness began to get worse, they turned to him. My parents were able to smuggle me into the walls where my grandfather could find me," the boy went on, "But they didn't know that my grandfather had lost his house when the landlords found out he used to be one of us."

The soldier grimaced at that. He could understand why the elderly man's landlords would be wary of him if he did come from behind the walls. Really, the fact that they were able to live in the same space as the titans was enough to make the soldier's gut shudder with apprehension and admiration because he knew they had to have quite the balls to do so.

"Do you want to go back to your parents?" the soldier asked.

At that, the boy stiffened and his head bowed. The soldier reached out and gently set a hand beneath the boy's chin, lifting his head so he could see him. His other hand reached out and pushed the bangs out from where they were and the soldier got the first real look at his face.

His eyes looked different; not the color, but the shape, they seemed almost slanted. His skin was pale, not from lack of sun, but was more ivory than anything. The boy's eyes widened as he looked at the soldier's face but ignored it. He was used to the stares.

"You look even stranger than I do," the boy remarked softly.

He chuckled slightly at the comment, but snapped back into seriousness as he avoided touching the bandages on the boy's forehead before a rather cruel thought came to him.

"How did you get those scars?" he asked the boy sternly.

The boy seemed to shrink underneath his gaze before he averted his eyes down. The soldier grimaced but decided not to press him for any more information; he could already see that he had all but punted the poor child into extremely unfamiliar territory already, no pun intended. That and his reaction all but confirmed what he had thought.

"I won't be able to take care of you forever," the soldier told him, "I only came here because I was given time off by my boss and I have to go back in a week. But I'm not just going to let you go back out into the cold; a good friend of mine looks after this house and you can live here until you can support yourself."

"But why are you doing this?" the boy asked softly, as if he didn't dare believe the soldier, "You and I don't even know one another, and I've never done anything to warrant your help; I don't even have anything to repay you with. What will the people think if you have someone like me here-"

"Enough. I don't care about payment or any crap like that," the soldier cut him off, "You needed help, so I gave it to you. It was my choice and I don't regret it. I'm not enough of a bastard to push a sick child for money, and I'm all too used to people looking at me like a freak."

The boy had nothing to say to that.

"As for not knowing one another, you shared a bit of your life with me, so it's only fair I do the same," the soldier said, "I used to be an assassin-for-hire, meaning I kill people for money; but now I'm a member of the Survey Corps and we go beyond the walls to slay man-eating giants and explore the various wonders of the world outside."

It wasn't so much as what the soldier said, but how he said it so matter-of-factually and nonchalantly, as if it wasn't a matter of life or death for himself and his comrades, that made the boy smile and even let a quiet giggle escape before looking reproachful. The soldier blinked in surprise at the transformation on the boy's face as he laughed.

_Well, this would be called a breakthrough, wouldn't it?_

"Now, it would make sense to introduce one another, wouldn't it?" the soldier said, "Mind telling me what your name is?"

The boy seemed to catch himself as he looked at the soldier before he said in a low but slightly confident tone, "... Hajime."

The soldier smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Hajime. As for my name, it's Levi."

* * *

"Verstoyen" is German for "outcast". As far as I know.

So, I decided to make an origin story for Levi. A choice with no regrets will show how he got into the Survey Corps and stopped trying to kill Erwin, but I doubt it will give any insight on his life before he became a thug. Thus, combined with Isabel remarking on where Levi came from, along with the famous fanfic "Audacity" concerning Levi's background, this was spawned.

As for Levi's "real name", I didn't rip it off from the creator's name; how could I when I didn't even know his first name was "Hajime" as well? I looked up "Levi" and learned that his name was Hebrew for "united". For irony or something like that, I tried to find a Japanese name that had similar meaning. Hajime means "beginning, origin, start" and I instantly decided to use it.

I don't know if I'll add to this or not, though... depends on you, dear readers, I guess.

On another note, HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2014, HERE WE COME!


End file.
